Christmas, year one
by Daniella T
Summary: The first year of the Blackout, Rachel looks for a present for her kids.


Christmas, year one

_Daniella says: I went to work in Sarajevo right after the war. The power was back on, although not everywhere, and it was common to still use flashlights to get around at night. I have friends who lived through the siege – four years without electricity, running water, or heating, in a city where temperatures can drop to minus 30 Celsius in the winter. Where people had to lug jerry-cans of water in buildings up to twenty stories high. Where doctors operated in the dark, and with the threat of the bombs (grenades, in local parlance, but they meant bombs launched by artillery, not hand-grenades). Perhaps this is why "Revolution" has touched me so much. This story is for them._

Rachel stole out of the tent as quietly as possible, so as not to wake the children – or Ben. They had arrived at the camp in the middle of the night, pitched their tent and collapsed inside, the children snuggling between their parents for warmth. Let them sleep, she thought. Please God, let them just sleep. When they slept, they were not hungry or tired. They had learnt long ago to not complain any more to their parents, to say they were hungry or sleepy. They had learnt that there was absolutely nothing their parents could do. Sleep was their only escape.

The only thing that had kept her going these last few months was Ben's determination that they could live through this. He kept telling her that people could get used to anything, as long as they were alive, and together. He told her how during the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina, people lived for years without electricity and running water or heating. Rachel had retorted that they had food parcels distributed, and that the electricity had come back on. Ben had said that they didn't know when the next food parcel would come, and they certainly didn't know whether they would be alive when the electricity would come back on. Then Rachel had said that at least they had flashlights, to keep the children from being afraid of the dark. Ben had had no reply.

Rachel hadn't seen the farm when they were walking towards the camp, but she had heard the lowing of cattle. She had spent enough time on the farms around Willoughby as a girl to know what a cow sounded like. So she woke up before dawn, with only one thought fixated in her mind: find the farm, and milk the cow.

She walked in the direction she vaguely remembered they had come from. It was through dense forest – no wonder no farm could be seen. It was just sheer luck – the wind blowing her way, the cow lowing at the right moment. She scrambled through the trees, pushing her exhausted body one step further. When she came upon a barn, she almost cried with relief. Then, instinct took over – she quickly went inside, got a bucket and approached the tired-looking cow. She had never milked a cow before. She had never been so close to one before, without someone else nearby who would know what they were doing. But all this paled before her determination: get to the cow, get the milk.

"What do you think you're doing?" came an angry growl from the door.

Startled, Rachel stood up quickly. Too quickly. The blood rushed from her head, and she collapsed.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a couch, and a man was approaching her with a cup.

"Here. You really must be hungry, to faint like that. Drink this."

"No, no!" she begged, rising. "You don't understand! It's not for me. It's for my kids. Tomorrow it's Christmas. I just wanted to get them...something...like a cup of milk?" she pleaded.

The man stopped in his tracks.

"Margaret!" he called out. "Did you know that it's Christmas Eve today?"

A tired-looking woman came into the room.

"Does it matter?" she whispered.

Then she noticed Rachel on the couch.

"Who's that?"

"I caught her trying to steal some milk. She fainted."

"Please, ma'm," said Rachel. "I've got two little kids. Two little kids," she repeated.

The woman looked at the farmer.

"John, give her the milk," she said finally. "For Eddie's sake."

She turned to Rachel.

"I had a son as well. Eddie. He starved to death," she said flatly.

"You see," she continued, "we didn't have the cow then. We had a horse. Then the militia – the one set up around here – came, and they were willing to trade. Our horse, for a cow. It was too late for Eddie. But we agreed all the same. What use did we have for the horse anyway?"

"You're lucky," said Rachel, absent-mindedly. "At least you got a trade. Most of the militias would just take your horse and give you a beating in return."

"Yeah. Lucky," repeated John.

He turned to Rachel.

"Did anyone see you coming here?"

She shook her head.

"I only found you because I heard your cow during the night. I grew up in the countryside, I knew how to follow the sound."

John looked at Margaret.

"What do you think?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Bring your family here. You can stay for a few days, put a roof over your children for Christmas."

She went into the barn and came back with a glass bottle full of milk.

"And take this to them."

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